Today's Topics:
Drug-sniffing dogs and Sigma Pseudo(TM) Corpse Scents
hoi-tee-toi-tee my arse!
scribe-boy
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From: sao@mit.edu
Message-Id: <9503232005.AA18951@cascade.MIT.EDU>
To: Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Subject: Drug-sniffing dogs and Sigma Pseudo(TM) Corpse Scents
Date: Thu, 23 Mar 1995 15:05:15 EST
------- Forwarded Message
From: scs@eskimo.com (Steve Summit)
From: msb@sq.com
Article 3941 of alt.fan.cecil-adams:
From: DWEISS@american.edu (DJW)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.cecil-adams
Subject: Re: Drug-Sniffing Dogs
Date: Fri, 17 Feb 95 12:28:15 EST
Message-ID: <17348AF6BS86.DWEISS@american.edu>
References: <17FEB95.03060161.0089@VM1.MCGILL.CA>
In article <17FEB95.03060161.0089@VM1.MCGILL.CA>
Veghead <ICER000@MUSICB.MCGILL.CA> writes:
>Does anyone know how police train dogs to sniff for drugs or
>explosives?
Wow - a question I can answer, cool.
My dad trains dogs as a hobby, and has done some sniffer-dog work. This is
the way that my dad and his other dog-friends do it, I dunno if everyone does
it this way:
The key ingredient is a ball-crazy dog. You know the type; a dog that is
totaly nuts about chasing, catching, and otherwise frolicking with a tennis
ball. They find these dogs through a very scientific process whereby they
get a bunch of puppies together and throw tennis balls around until it becomes
apparent that one puppy is especially interested in ball-activities.
That puppy is rewarded with his very own ball, one scented with eau de cocaine
or eau de semtex, or whatever. They get these scents from a police-supply
outfit. They're just smells, no narcotic/explosive properties, so don't get
any ideas.
The puppy grows up with the scented ball. Whenever the dog is playing, it is
with the scented ball. If the dog seems pretty adept with scents, it might get
another ball with a different scent, but two seems to be the limit. Besides
just playing "catch," and other doggie-sports, the dog eventually learns the
game "find your ball!"
Thats the funny part. When the dog goes charging around the airport and starts
clawing at your suitcase, he's just looking for his stupid ball.
Dad's trained dogs for several state police forces, so this must work pretty
well. The key is linking the dog's entire sense of fun with that scent. Hey -
I know some people just like that.
Dan Weiss || Washington, DC
Article 3950 of alt.fan.cecil-adams:
Path: sq!uunet.ca!uunet.ca!spool.mu.edu!caen!usenet.cis.ufl.edu!usenet.eel.ufl.edu!news.uoregon.edu!oregon.uoregon.edu!MAYNARD
From: maynard@oregon.uoregon.edu (Tom Maynard)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.cecil-adams
Subject: Re: Drug-Sniffing Dogs
Date: 18 Feb 1995 09:04:03 GMT
Organization: University of Oregon, Eugene, Oregon
Lines: 41
Message-ID: <3i4d63$q61@pith.uoregon.edu>
References: <17FEB95.03060161.0089@VM1.MCGILL.CA>,<17348AF6BS86.DWEISS@american.edu>
Reply-To: maynard@oregon.uoregon.edu
NNTP-Posting-Host: oregon.uoregon.edu
DWEISS@american.edu (DJW) writes:
>Veghead <ICER000@MUSICB.MCGILL.CA> writes:
>
>>Does anyone know how police train dogs to sniff for drugs or
>>explosives?
[details of teaching dogs to search for scents deleted...]
>That puppy is rewarded with his very own ball, one scented with eau de cocaine
>or eau de semtex, or whatever. They get these scents from a police-supply
>outfit. They're just smells, no narcotic/explosive properties, so don't get
>any ideas.
Speaking of "Eau de semtex", there are some really wonderful scents to be
found. While skimming through the Sigma Catalog (a major chemical supplier),
I found the section of "Forensic Chemistry". Just because the Teeming
Millions surely want to know, here's what's available:
Sigma Pseudo(TM) Narcotic Scents:
- cocaine formulation
- heroin formulation
- marihuana formulation
Sigma Pseudo(TM) Corpse Scents:
- Formulation 1 (for early detection or below 0C)
- Formulation 2 (for post-putrification detection)
- Drowned Victim Scent Formulation
Sigma Pseudo(TM) Distressed Body Scent
Sigma Pseudo(TM) Powder Explosive Scent
These scents make great gifts, I'm sure. I'm wearing the Distressed Body
Scent right now! Drives women WILD!
- --Tom Maynard (maynard@oregon.uoregon.edu)
"We were poor, but we didn't know we were poor...
We thought we were starving to death!"
- --- end forwarded message ---
[scs here]
And, in response, someone else (name witheld to protect the
guilty) suggested:
> Oh boy. ``Sabotage an airport of your choice with nothing
> but a squirt gun TODAY!'' :-)
------- End of Forwarded Message
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To: Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
From: bingo handjob <HIS2DGC@arts-01.novell.leeds.ac.uk>
Date: Thu, 23 Mar 1995 19:12:34 GMT
Subject: hoi-tee-toi-tee my arse!
Reply-To: "rev d.v.w" <his2dgc@arts-01.leeds.ac.uk>
Message-Id: <A778B700BA@arts-01.novell.leeds.ac.uk>
"lor lumme cock, you northern bruvvers don't arf like to chinwag
abaht nuffink, innit. when you was a lad me and the bethnal green
boys was mining those blinkin' bananas your sister was later
a-welding (no doubt in a flatcaps, whippets and pigeon loft manner).
thousands of my tunnelin' pals was killed in order to extract unusual
fruitages, and for what? i was one of the lucky ones too. i didn't have
to do pineapple duty or suffer under the kumquat yoke. my best mate
lost three legs doing them. but in them days the nhs was a proper
service so 'e was awright in arf a tick. you didn't have no waiting or
expenditurage....i tell you this for free squire: you never 'ad the blitz
like what we did either, them jerrys was all out for us, 'cos of our
tastier lager and chirpy cockney birds. not like your lancashire lard
munching types or your disagreeable ales. no son, you got it all
wrong like. you wanna move dahn sarf and git yerself some proper
culture. i mean we still got the likes of mike reid and that alf garnet
fella. you've got matthew bleedin kelly. and ain't it a shame that
ronnie died the other day. say what you like but them krays was
honest gangsters. insane, viscious murdering criminal types yes, but
i ain't romanticising when i say they done it with style and panache
like what you can't get no more these days. if they blew your knee
caps off, they cleaned up proper after. and they loved their mother
too, like a good couple of boys....and what do them ferrets get used
for - you want a proper pet like a bulldog, or a canary. yeah an' that
fackin' dockland stuff is a big bag of steamin' horse shit too. where do
they get them twats from? america or summink? it's a bleedin
nightmare and no mistake. it's never been the same since we lost the
empire of course...."
[cue the stark FIST and a swift-but-violent ending]
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From: MARK DANIELS <AVYIMAR@ccn4.ccc.nottingham.ac.uk>
Organization: CCC, The University of Nottingham
To: Subgenius@mc.lcs.mit.edu
Date: Thu, 23 Mar 1995 11:09:10 GMT0BST
Subject: scribe-boy
Message-ID: <19324BE4DBD@ccn4.ccc.nottingham.ac.uk>
The Chronicle of the Caboose:
Slowly, carefully, he laid down his pencil. The day had been
more of a dilemma than
he had anticipated. His notebook had been full before the first
light of dawn, but now it was
overflowing.
Thursday 13th July.
For some reason there appeared to be more people in the street
today. No one would
know, except for him. No one else seemed to notice. Every so often
he made this journey,
out into the other lands. He was always a stranger, never a friend,
yet he felt secure in the
108. As he passed people they looked blank, never knowing what to
expect, what to think
or what to do. Each had their own skill, but hardly ever got to
implement that skill. Some
asked directions or questions, which were always confusing to the
other, and no one ever got
a satisfactory answer. Not that they'd remember.
Farther on he trudged, past the outcrop of trees that marked the edge
of what you could only
call a settlement, down to the `connection of all places'. He had
come up with that name
himself, as nobody else was going to and each time he left, he had to
look it up in his
notebook, written in large letters inside the front of the book. It
was a constant task, as he
told himself every time, to keep up with his scribblings. The large
head, full of its smoking
pride, embossed on the cover always lifted his spirits, intimidating,
yet strangely pleasing to
the eye, the large eye he used to view all things, like the large
mouth, the small nose and
other non-essential items he used in the search.
`Too much all at once' he thought. It always worried him, the way he
knew above all others the importance of the 108, how no one ever knew
how or why they wandered aimlessly about
town, ordering cabs and asking each other pointless questions.
Questions, which on the face
of it aren't that pointless, but when they yield no fruit become
pointless. Yet it was only him
and him alone who knew this terrible secret, why he must not release
the truth of it all. He
had told himself this on that first day, if it was the first day.
Was it the second?, the third?.
Each day to him was one long learning experience. Those fools,
trapped in their mediocrity.
Laughable were their attempts at self-understanding. How little they
understood the great
blessing of the 108. Not that he actually understood himself, but he
with the greener grass
shall always have a green tongue.
to be continued.........
By Rev. Badu. : First EvilSun RolfClench of the SubGenius.
Mark Daniels
Home pages: http://unicorn.ccc.nottingham.ac.uk/~avyimar/downmyclub.html
More slack than something that isn't taut.
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End of Subgenius Digest
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